


From Time to Eternity

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Brian and Jimmy won't let each other break, Brian is a wreck, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jimmy's not much better, M/M, Slightly Hopeful Ending, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly's death shatters them apart. If they pick up each other's pieces and put them back together, maybe they'll survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now I’ll Have to Fade Away, My Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 Title comes from "Pass Slowly" by Seether, I'd suggest listening to it while you read for maximum effectiveness. Or just pic your own personal brand of angsty music.

 

 

 

 

 

_For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity – William Penn_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brian is almost able to get through it. Almost. He can focus on the work, process this like any other body, mark the tissue samples, the blood samples, note the time of death (less than 48 hours), examine the remains for any sort of unknown DNA or fingerprints (of course there are none, he never expected them). He can do all of this in a haze, distancing himself.

 

But when the body is finally stored away, and he has nothing left to look at but the six autopsy drawers, the whole row across, each one labeled B.KATZ, well...

 

He said almost.

 

He curls up on inside the handicap stall in the bathroom, dry heaving into his knees and praying nobody walks in and sees him squatting on the ground like this. It's late, and the building is mostly deserted, but there's always a few people poking about, and he doesn't need any sort of awkward conversations right now.

 

Nobody's really talking to him as it is. Jimmy and Jack are the only ones not giving him a wide berth. Everyone else knows exactly how close he and Beverly were. They probably have no idea what to say to him. Which is fine, Brian's not really in the mood to talk to anyone _but_ Jimmy and Jack right now.

 

Speaking of the former... Jimmy was silent the whole time they conducted the autopsy. He didn't even ask Brian to hand him a tool or help collect a sample. Just pointed at whatever he needed and nodded. Brian understood. They've been working together for so long that even if the grim specter of death wasn't hanging over the both of their moods, this sort of non-verbal communication wouldn't be uncommon.

 

But Jimmy literally said _nothing_. Brian's never gone a day at this job without hearing his voice, throwing out at least one little odd factoid, a snarky little quip, or a flirty bit of innuendo Brian's way. The silence of Jimmy's voice was the loudest thing in that room. It bore into Brian's focus like a cutting red line through his vision, and he coughed and tapped his pen and pounded on the keyboard a bit harder. Anything to drive away the sound of that silence.

 

 _Simon and Garfunkel really knew what they were talking about_ , Brian thinks, getting to his feet as the dry heaving passes. He's already got his bag and his coat with him; they were sitting by the desk in the autopsy room all day. He still hasn't been able to go back into their shared office. The clutter on her desk will only make him believe for a moment that she's not gone. He can't, he won't let himself believe that, even for a second. It will be his undoing.

 

He shuts off the light in the autopsy room and heads down the hall. One of the overhead lights is flickering, blinking a Morse code through the blackness. _SOS_ , Brian thinks, but his life isn't that poetic, it's just a random flutter of darkness and light. _Well, maybe that's a bit poetic after all._

 

In the garage, he spots a figure leaning up against a car, bowed back against the trunk, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the ceiling. _Jimmy_ , Brian thinks, recognizing the greyish winter jacket he's wrapped in, as well as the vehicle he's leaning against.

 

There are no other cars on this level except for Brian's own. It's closer to the stairwell than Jimmy's, and he would be going out of his way to approach Jimmy to say good night.

 

He does it anyway.

 

"Hey," Brian starts, leaning against the car next to Jimmy. He gets a gruff, non-committal grunt in return. "I thought you left a while ago."

 

"Left the building," Jimmy finally says, the first words Brian's heard him speak twelve hours. "Got as far as here. Haven't had the urge to keep going."

 

"Can't stand here all night, Jim," Brian says, swaying slightly to the left and bumping Jimmy's shoulder. "We promised Jack we'd be here tomorrow."

 

"We _demanded_ that we be here tomorrow," Jimmy says. "There's a difference. Jack wanted us to stay home for a week."

 

"Well we both knew that wasn't happening. Who else is going to... take care of her, like we would."

 

"Thank god she's Jewish, because I don't know how we'd handle having to prepare her for a viewing." Jimmy sighs and rubs a hand down his face. "I wonder if they're going to have the funeral here or in Minneapolis."

 

"I expect here, since only her parents live out there. The rest of the family is from Maryland." Brian grabs his phone from his bag, wanting to check the time. He hasn't looked at it in hours, since before everything happened, so he's not even thinking when he presses the power button.

 

When he sees the lock screen, his body buckles. He drops the phone and curls up against the ground as it smashes into the pavement, the battery popping out and flying across the garage. He lets out a choked gasp, burying his face in his fists and shaking like a leaf in the wind.

 

And then Jimmy is there, kneeling down next to him and tugging on his arms. "Brian, Brian, what happened?" He sounds alarmed, anxious, like he thinks Brian's hurt himself. Oh, it hurts, but not a visible wound.

 

"Lock screen," Brian chokes out. "Our last bar night, the three of us."

 

"Oh, _oh_." Jimmy glances down at the phone, but without the battery there's nothing to see but a new dent in the corner. It doesn't matter; Brian knows that Jimmy will remember the picture he's talking about. The one with the three of them, leaning over a dozen beer bottles, smushing their cheeks together to get everyone in frame for the tipsy, half-crooked selfie that Brian took that night.

 

"I'm sorry," Brian whispers through a wet hiccup. "You've got your own grief, don't need to add mine to it."

 

" _Shut up_ , you- you self-absorbed _moron_." There are arms wrapping themselves around Brian's body. Jimmy's kneeling in front of him, pulling Brian off the ground, into the solid firmness of Jimmy's chest. "This is shared grief. We need each other right now."

 

"She didn't deserve this," Brian sobs, bunching his fists into Jimmy's jacket, gripping the fabric for dear life. "Why- why the fuck didn't she tell us what she was doing... we could've helped-"

 

"Don't, Brian," Jimmy says, cupping his hand under Brian's chin and lifting it to meet his eyes. "Don't do that to yourself."

 

Jimmy may sound calm, but Brian knows his friend, can see the exhaustion of grief, the glimmer in his eyes of the dam that's threatening to burst.

 

"Come on," Jimmy says, pulling Brian to his feet. He tugs the passenger door open and gently pushes Brian into the seat. "I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

 

Brian's composed himself a bit more when Jimmy gets in the driver's seat, handing Brian the retrieved battery and the back of his phone case. Brian fixes the phone but doesn't turn it on. He'll have to figure out a way to change that picture without seeing it again. Maybe he'll ask Jimmy to do it. Or maybe he'll just buy a new phone.

 

"I have a bag in my car," Brian mumbles. "Change of clothes, toothbrush, that sort of thing."

 

"Give me your keys," Jimmy says.

 

"I can-"

 

"No. Keys." He holds his hand out. Brian sighs, but hands over the fob. Jimmy comes back with the duffel bag, tossing it into the back seat.

 

They drive without the radio, without talking, just listening to the slow drizzle of rain pattering on the roof of the car. Jimmy's car smells of faded coconut, his air freshener in need of an update. Brian rests his head against the window, pushing his forehead against the cool glass and closing his eyes.

 

He forces them open again after only a few seconds. Her face is burned into the back of his eyelids, imprinting on his corneas and refusing to vanish. He can't think about how they found her, that person sliced open, dissected, a gruesome presentation of internal organs that didn't begin to explain who she really was. No, that isn't Beverly. That will never be Beverly. She was here and now she's gone, and that's as far as Brian can think about it.

 

Brian's not paying attention to the road, and when Jimmy touches his shoulder, bringing him back to focus, he finds that they're in Jimmy's driveway. The car is off, and now all he can hear is the rain.

 

"Let's go," Jimmy says, handing him his duffel. "We'll get inside and warm up."

 

The house is cool when they walk in; Jimmy always leaves the thermostat low when he's out ( _"Electric heating is a bitch to pay for,"_ he once explained to Brian). As Jimmy moves about, turning on lights and tossing loose items out of sight, Brian drops his duffel next to the worn, brown fabric couch in the living room, and plops down on one of the cushions. He's kicking off his shoes as Jimmy comes back and plants a bottle right in the middle of the coffee table.

 

"Jim, no, we have work," Brian says, staring at the whiskey. "We'll be a mess."

 

"We're already a mess," Jimmy counters. "At least with this we can cut the macho 'holding-it-all-in' bullshit and just let ourselves feel."

 

"I did a pretty terrible job of holding it in before," Brian mutters, but he takes the glass Jimmy hands him, pouring two fingers and downing the measure in one gulp.

 

"Atta' boy," Jimmy says, copying his actions, coughing slightly at the end. "Whoops, wrong pipe." He drops onto the sofa next to Brian and refills both their glasses.

 

"What are we gonna say to Jack tomorrow when we show up hung-over?" Brian asks, swirling the liquid and licking his lips.

 

"Nothing. And he won't say anything either." Jimmy leans back into the cushions; Brian studies the wrinkles on his forehead, almost certain that another one has appeared within the last twelve hours.

 

"He's our boss," Brian says.

 

"He's also human. You don't think he's going home tonight and doing the exact same thing?" Jimmy's voice softens. "He's losing his wife, Brian. Now this... his bottle is going to end up a lot emptier than ours."

 

Brian swallows the second pour and holds out his glass. "Keep filling this until I stop compartmentalizing."

 

"How will I know when that happens?"

 

"You'll know," Brian croaks. "You always do."

 

Alcohol is supposed to make you happy, at least, it always has in Brian's case. His inner sorority girl usually makes its star appearance after a few drinks, and the fun he has after that mostly makes up for the killer headache in the morning.

 

But tonight it just serves to stir up memories, ones he's really not capable of handling right now.

 

After the fourth or fifth drink (he can't remember which), her face stops hiding behind his eyelids and clouds his vision, filling it to the edges of his blind spots. Her laugh echoes in his ears; he feels her hand on his shoulder, just brushing the sleeve hem, the way she used to call his attention to something. She leans forward, smiling, as if to tell him a secret she needs him to know, but he can't hear the words. Then she kisses his cheek, leaving a line of wetness cooling in the dry air... but no, that's not her lips, those are his tears.

 

His head is spinning as hard as his vision now, and the warmth on his shoulder is from a real, not imagined source - Jimmy's hand. "What?" Brian garbles, the echo of Jimmy's question fading from his ears.

 

"Want another?" Jimmy slurs, obviously having dipped into the booze just as hard as Brian. He reaches for the bottle but misses, flailing about until Brian grabs his shoulders and rights him. Jimmy grips Brian's arms, and they stare at each other, watching the silent, unrelenting tears streaming down each other's face.

 

Time feels like it's stopped, but Brian can hear the clock above the mantle ticking on and on. He wants to jump up, to grab the second hand and spin it backwards, like a makeshift Time-Turner, go back and find her and stop her and make her tell them what's going on-

 

Jimmy breaks first, dropping limp against Brian's shoulder and sliding his arms around Brian's waist. If Brian had any sense of personal space left when it came to Jimmy, he might've been disturbed, but they'd gotten over each other's respective bubbles a long while back. Instead he holds on just as tightly, burying his face into Jimmy's shoulder and letting himself go.

 

His mind won't stop screaming, begging like a child who wants their favorite toy, _BRING HER BACK BRING HER BACK BRING HER BACK_. He wants to grab the glasses from the coffee table and shatter them into the fireplace, cut his hands to the bone and bleed, make a wound he can see, something other than this gaping hole in his heart.

 

And when he hears Jimmy crying, sobbing softly into his shoulder, Brian wants to take those shattered pieces of glass, tie them together, and find the damn bastard who did this. He'll use those shards to carve the same wound into the Ripper's chest that he's carved into theirs.

 

"She's gone," Jimmy whimpers, digging his nails into Brian's back. "She was here just yesterday. We didn't even get to say goodbye."

 

What was the last thing they talked about? Something stupid, something trivial, something other than what should've been their final words to her. "We couldn't have known, Jim," Brian says, cupping a hand on the back of Jimmy's head, slipping his fingers through the thinning locks in a soothing motion. "How could we have known?"

 

"I'm older than the both of you," Jimmy says. "Shouldn't have been her. Too young to die. Should've been me..."

 

"Don't say that!" Brian jerks Jimmy back, gripping the sides of his head. "Don't ever fucking say that again! It shouldn't have been any of us, not me or you or Bev!"

 

Jimmy's staring at him, wide-eyed and despairing. "Brian..."

 

Brian drops his head, trembling through every bone in his body. "Do you know what it would do to me if I lost you too? It would ruin me. Hell, the only reason this might not ruin me is because you're here." He feels the teardrops slip from the edges of his eyes, sees them pattering like the rain onto the leg of his pants.

 

His voice cracks. " _Please_ don't leave me alone."

 

Then Jimmy is cupping his jaw, and tipping his head forward, and Brian goes, wanting it, needing it, knowing it's the only thing that makes sense in the world right now.

 

Jimmy's kiss tastes of whiskey and salty grief and a desperate need for connection. He pulls Brian close, practically into his lap, curling his legs around Brian's thighs. Brian beats a miserable, broken percussion against Jimmy's chest, raging against a senseless, unforgiving universe.

 

When Brian breaks this kiss, needing air, Jimmy presses his lips against the tear stains running down Brian's face, and then buries his nose in Brian's curls, still holding him tightly.

 

"That was okay, wasn't it?" Jimmy mutters. "It was okay for me to do that?"

 

"It's the only okay thing that's happened all day," Brian sniffs, wiping his eyes. "We'll talk about it another time." His vision is still fuzzy, and all of a sudden he's feeling exhausted. The crying made him feel a bit better, enough to at least allow some rest. He yawns into a watery hiccup.

 

"Tired too?" Jimmy asks. Brian nods. "We need sleep. Come on." He pulls them both to their feet, keeping an arm wrapped around Brian's shoulders as he leads them towards the bedroom.

 

"I'm sleepin' in here?" Brian mumbles as they stumble into the room.

 

"Told you I wasn't leaving you alone tonight." Jimmy pushes him down onto the bed, flat on his back, and tugs off his socks; Jimmy knows he hates sleeping in footwear. Brian stares up at him, watching his face, and realizes that Jimmy needs company tonight just as much as he does.

 

Brian slides up to the pillow on the left side as Jimmy flicks off the light. He wiggles under the covers; his limbs are heavy from alcohol and exhaustion, and the bed is immeasurably satisfying after the day they've had.

 

He sees Jimmy move through the darkness, slipping under the blankets beside him. Then Jimmy's hand finds his own under the sheets, threading their fingers together, and this feels more intimate than anything else they've done tonight.

 

"Goodnight, Brian," Jimmy whispers.

 

"Goodnight, Jimmy," Brian returns. When he closes his eyes now, he sees only darkness. Beverly's laugh is still echoing in the back of his thoughts, but it's more comforting than painful, like a bittersweet lullaby.

 

Jimmy doesn't let go of his hand the whole night, and with that connection, that comforting touch, Brian can drift off to a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 


	2. My Mouth is Dry with Words I Cannot Verbalize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow, agonizing anticipation before the goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from "We Are Broken" by Paramore. I recommend listening to it while reading, or choosing your own appropriately angsty music for the full effect.

 

 

 

In the morning, Brian wakes to the soft sound of Jimmy's waterfall alarm, gurgling cheerily as the clock blinks _8:15_. He keeps his eyes closed, only opening them when Jimmy turns over, releasing his hand.

 

"Morning," Jimmy mutters, yawning and stretching his back. "How do you feel?"

 

"Like shit," Brian groans, rubbing his forehead. "But not as bad as I thought I would. We've got to be in at ten, right?"

 

"Mhmmm." Jimmy slides out from under the sheets. "I'll get us some asprin."

 

Brian rummages around for his socks, tugging them on as Jimmy comes back with a glass and two pills for him to swallow. They both take their medicine, and Brian downs all of the water, taking his time, wondering if they're going to mention... certain events from the previous evening.

 

When he finally finishes the glass, he hands it back to Jimmy, and then follows him out to the kitchen. "Are we going to talk about last night?" Brian asks.

 

"Not if you don't want to." Jimmy washes out the glasses, and Brian notices that the whiskey bottle has migrated from the coffee table to the counter, along with the tumblers.

 

"Good, because I have no idea what I want right now, so if we could hold off until I do, I'd appreciate it."

 

"I wasn't even going to press it." Jimmmy turns off the faucet and pats him on the shoulder, striding past him. "You can take the first shower, I've got to check my email."

 

They shower, dress, and chow down on some bagels that Jimmy finds in his breadbox. The ride back to the BAU is just as quiet as it had been last night. Brian's brain is static right now, the headache is subsiding but he holds no thoughts, just the faint sense of malaise and nausea. Jimmy's got the radio turned to NPR, but Brian can't focus, can't comprehend that the world is still moving, leaving him far behind.

 

Jack doesn't even let them put their stuff down. "Need to talk to you," he says, crooking a finger at them and nodding towards his own office.

 

"What's going on?" Brian asks as Jack shuts the door. He studies the bags under Jack's eyes, sees the red-rimmed pupils and the droop of his shoulders. Jimmy was right, Jack was just as broken up as they were. "New evidence? We catch the guy?"

 

Jack shakes his head. "I'm telling you now so you don't find out some way else. Agent Katz's body is no longer in the building. Her parents called about which funeral parlor was going to be handling her remains, so I released them this morning."

 

"You, you _what_. We were supposed to take care of her first!" Brian sees red as he clenches his fists, and now he understands why Jack closed the door, even Jimmy jumps at the volume of his voice. "She's in slices, Jack, how the hell are they going to get her ready for burial?"

 

"You're not a mortician, _Agent Zeller_ ," Jack growls, a warning in his voice. "It's not your job to prepare the body for funeral. I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Katz would rather you not have to do that anyway."

 

"How the fuck would you know?" Brian shouts, watching his boss' eyes widen. He knows Jack is going to put him through the ringer for this, but he doesn't care right now, he's so mad he can barely think. "If anyone is going to sew her back together and prepare her for burial, it should be us, not some- some two-bit schmuck mortician who didn't even know her!"

 

" _Agent Zeller!_ " Jack's voice booms, vibrating the glass walls and drawing the attention of several passerbys. Brian zips his lips, still fuming, but knowing he's toeing the line and he'll cross it if he says anything else. " _That is not your call_. You aren't her husband, you aren't her _parents_ , and your wishes don't override theirs. You know Jewish burials are supposed to be nearly immediate, and it is not your right to postpone Beverly's just to satisfy your own personal grieving process!"

 

Brian walks out before he does something very, _very_ stupid. He slams the door shut behind him, storming away, listening for the hinge to swing open and for Jack to shout that he's suspended. It has to happen now, you don't walk out on Jack Crawford and not pay for it.

 

But he hears nothing, just the pounding of his own footsteps as he reaches the end of the hallway and enters the men's room. He swings at the first thing he sees, and his fist slams into the paper towel dispenser as the door slides shut. Thank god nobody's in here, because the scream of frustration would send them fleeing. He swings again with his other fist, another cry, and then he rests his forehead against the dents he's made in the metal container.

 

There are footsteps coming down the hall. Brian ignores them, even as the door swings open. Even as he feels a hand on his shoulder.

 

"That was really stupid of you," Jimmy mutters. "What were you planning on accomplishing with that?"

 

"Just don't." Brian looks at his knuckles, reddening and aching as the adrenaline leaves his system. "Am I fired?"

 

"He just told me to make sure you didn't break anything. Luckily you picked an object that wasn't easily smashed." Jimmy takes his right hand, examining the middle knuckle, where the skin has split open and blood trickles down the forefinger. "You need a bandaid."

 

"I need to finish the paperwork I have piling up on my desk." Jimmy catches his arm as he tries to step past him. "I'm fine," Brian insists, looking directly at Jimmy. He tugs away, and he can tell from the look in Jimmy's eye that he doesn't believe Brian, not one bit. It doesn't matter though, there's nothing to be done about it.

 

Brian averts his eyes from the left corner when he enters the office. He yanks a few files out of the pile on his desk and then leaves, setting himself up in the morgue, where six empty drawers are now available to become his makeshift desk. He's got a backlog of paperwork that he hates doing and puts off for months at a time, bureaucratic bullshit that the FBI makes him fill out to cover their asses. There won't be any autopsies today, and he needs something to keep busy with.

 

He doesn't look up when Jack comes in the room. The other man stands there for a good minute, saying nothing, and Brian really fucking hates being oogled at like a zoo animal. But he's feeling spiteful right now, and he won't give Jack the pleasure of making him speak first.

 

"I don't want to see you in this building after two. I'm not assigning you to anything today. Get your paperwork done and go home."

 

Brian only acknowledges this with a nod. When Jack leaves, he lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

 

 _I really put my foot in my mouth, didn't I_ , he thinks as he scribbles. _Can't even be nice to other grief-striken people. Nice job, Zeller._ He knows Jack is right if he thinks about it logically, knows that he'd probably fuck up the stitches or drop the needle or just hit a point where he can't go on. But this isn't exactly a logical sort of feeling he's feeling at the moment. It's like... it's like he thinks that if he can be the one to put her back together, to stitch her into one whole person again, then maybe... maybe she'll wake up.

 

Brian returns to the office and piles the finished paperwork into the appropriate file cabinets at 1:55. He's still not looking at Beverly's corner. Jimmy's at his own desk, scrolling through something on his laptop, but it doesn't seem to be too important because his attention immediately focuses on Brian when he comes in.

 

"I called her mother," Jimmy says, and Brian freezes. "The funeral is tomorrow at noon. They're coming in by a flight tonight; her sister is already doing that... what's that thing where you sit with the body?"

 

" _Shemira_ ," Brian says, and his Hebrew comes out rusty and unpracticed. "They're reform Jews, I didn't think they would do that."

 

"The sister wanted to," Jimmy explains. "People seem to get a little more religious when death comes knocking."

 

Brian nods. "Okay. Anything else?"

 

"And... they asked if we would help carry the casket from the synagogue to the cemetery."

 

"But- but that's for family members-"

 

"She's only got three uncles and a brother-in-law, and I don't think her father can handle doing it." Jimmy drums his fingers on the desk. "Also, we were family. Maybe not by blood... but from the way Mrs. Katz talked, she'd gotten that impression from Beverly."

 

There's that damned knot, trying to work its way up through Brian's chest, to spill from his throat and break his composure. He swallows it back down. "I'll do it if you will," he says.

 

"Knew you would say that. I already said yes for both of us."

 

"Course you did." Brian shoves his hands into his pockets, and Jimmy keeps looking at him, like he expects something else.

 

And Brian wants to say, _I want to spend the night at your place again_. But he doesn't want to sound needy, like Jimmy's the only thing keeping him afloat at the moment. Even if it's true.

 

So he's really thankful when Jimmy asks, "Do you want to come over again tonight?"

 

Brian nods, trying not to look like an overeager puppy. "I really would, if you don't mind. I'll go home and pack another duffel first. When are you leaving here?"

 

"I'll be out of here by four," Jimmy says. "Give me an hour after that."

 

"I can cook. Food, I mean. For dinner."

 

"Well food is traditionally what is eaten at dinner,..."

 

Brian smirks. "You know what I mean- to thank you for letting me crash."

 

Jimmy waves him off. "You can always crash with me, but food is a nice benefit."

 

He heads home, packing his suit and several nice dark shirts, since he likely won't get back here before the funeral tomorrow. His razor also goes in the bag; Beverly asked him once if he would show her what he looks like clean-shaven, and he plans on keeping that promise.

 

Then he goes to the grocery store and spends an hour wandering, trying to think of what he can cook, deciding on a simple shrimp scampi after picking up and putting down a dozen different items.

Jimmy's sitting on the porch when Brian pulls into the driveway.

 

"Aren't you cold?" Brian asks as he pulls the grocery bags out of the trunk. "It's no more than fifty right now."

 

"I like to come out here to think. Also, remember, from Canada. This is t-shirt and shorts weather for my people."

 

"Yeah yeah. Here." He holds out the bags. "I'm going to get the rest; I bought some to make later when we go visit them while they sit _Shiva_."

 

"That's not what her sister is doing, is it?" Jimmy takes the bags, staying out with Brian as he pulls his duffel and suit out. "They didn't teach us much about your people at Catholic school."

 

" _My_ people, pshh." Brian rolls his eyes, clomping up the steps after Jimmy. "It's a three day mourning period. Longer if you're Orthodox. We bring food so the family doesn't have to worry about that."

 

"Free food, I wonder which one of my family I'd have to kill to get that sort of-" He stops when he sees Brian's look. "Sorry, that was really too dark, wasn't it."

 

"A _bit_ ," Brian huffs. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

 

Jimmy keeps the beers coming as Brian throws together the meal. It's an easy recipe, just some spaghetti, shrimp cooked in butter and garlic, breadcrumbs, and parmesean liberally coating the noodles. His mom used to make it when she didn't have much time or patience for cooking, so it packs a punch of home whenever he makes it. _I don't think I've ever made it for Jimmy_. He stirs the shrimp in the pan, glancing over as Jimmy dumps the noodles into the boiling pot water. This feels like an issue he can only half-remedy. A reminder of home he's too late to share with one person, and a confirmation of home towards the other.

 

They eat in the living room, curled up like cats in the sunken corners of the couch. Jimmy's put a twelve pack on the floor between their legs, and as the food disappears from their plates, the empty bottles start piling up on the table.

 

"That was delicious, thank you," Jimmy says, covering a lengthy burp. "Bev would kill us if she saw this mess, though."

 

"I'm a young bachelor. You have no excuse."

 

"I'm an _old_ bachelor. I'm set in my ways. You should still be trying to pick up women and keeping your place respectably clean."

 

"Well, that's why I'm messing up _your_ house," Brian retorts, swallowing his own burp with another sip of beer, a general warmth radiating through his bones. "And you're not old enough to give up on romance yet. I can at least confirm you're a moderately decent kisser," he says with an unsure, searching smile.

 

"I doubt you can really remember how well I kiss, after how much you drank last night."

 

"I compliment you and you reject me. Yeah, now I see why you're single."

 

Maybe that last one was a bit harsh. He looks over to Jimmy, who's staring at the spout of his bottle, swirling the liquid round and round inside. Brian tries to think of a way to lighten the mood, because they sure as shit aren't going to have any levity for the next few days, and they've been drowning in misery for the last forty eight hours.

 

Jimmy puts down the bottle, pulling his legs up to sit crossed on the couch, facing Brian. "Prove it then. Kiss me again."

 

"You want me to rate your skills while sober - well, half sober." Brian plants his own bottle down. "You realize that there's a very real possibility I could say you kiss like a gasping fish."

 

"Oh, I know myself pretty well, and I deserve a better score than 'moderately decent.'" This seems like a ruse to just get Brian to kiss him again.

 

Well, he doesn't mind falling for this ruse.

 

Brian scoots forward onto the middle cushion, resting his hands on Jimmy's knees and slowly leaning in. The other man is impatient, he cups Brian's face and tugs him into the kiss, demanding the presence of his lips and the slip of his tongue into Brian's mouth.

 

Brian lets out a little soft moan; Jimmy was right, he deserves much better than 'moderately decent.' He knows just the right amount of pressure, the perfect angle to join their mouths, the sensitive flicks of his tongue at the corners of Brian's lips. His hands are roving through Brian's hair, twisting into the curls and tugging Brian a little to the left, a little to the right, now back for a needed breath, and forward once again.

 

When Jimmy sits back against the arm, Brian goes with him, sliding onto his knees and draping himself over Jimmy's lap. His hands find the edges of Jimmy's shirt, slipping under to knead at the heated skin of his waist. There's a warmth welling within him, threatening to split him open, but this is too good, and this is too... too _normal._

 

At another time he wouldn't be too surprised to find himself in this position. But nothing is normal right now, and nothing should feel too good. It just seems... disrespectful. Beverly's not even in the ground yet, and they're screwing around to ignore the grief.

 

"Jim, wait." Brian pushes against Jimmy's chest, sitting back on his heels. "I can't- it isn't- what are we doing," he finally says. "What is this?"

 

"This is two people who are finding a way to cope." Jimmy slides a hand up and down Brian's arm. "How your grief manifests is nobody's business but your own."

 

"I just- it doesn't feel right. Not now. Not yet," he adds, seeing the hurt on Jimmy's face. "I'm just not ready to do this yet."

 

"I told you, we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

 

"I want to talk about it," Brian says. "Just, not for a few more days." He sways to the left, pressing his body into the couch cushion. "I'm sorry, I don't make any sense."

 

"Eh, nothing makes sense right now." Jimmy mimics his movements, leaning his own body into the couch and meeting Brian's eyes across the span. "If the world made sense, Bev would still be here and the Ripper would be in jail. But we're not that blessed."

 

"If she'd just talked to us, if she hadn't run off half-cocked, if _Will fucking Graham_ hadn't sent her to be his sacrificial lamb..." He almost wishes Graham wasn't in prison, just so Brian could get to him and punch his smarmy fucking face. He knows Will didn't actually kill her, but it almost would've been kinder if he'd done it himself. _Abigail Hobbs should've been the last person whose life he took_.

 

"She did what she thought she had to." Jimmy cups one of his hands and squeezes it gently. "You know her, Brian. She must've had a reason. Whatever that reason is, we'll figure it out, and it will lead us to the Ripper."

 

Brian doesn't know if he's that optimistic, but he nods anyway, closing his eyes and holding tight to Jimmy's hand as it anchors him, keeps him steady, stops him from breaking open again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter either tomorrow or Tuesday.


	3. Now In Your Absence I Wade Through the Coursing, Lonely, Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's not sure he can say farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from "Dark Side of Me" by Coheed and Cambria. I recommend listening to it for maximum angst effect, or picking your own personal brand of angsty music.

 

 

 

The full length mirror in Jimmy's house is a bit steamed up after his shower, but Brian can still see himself well enough, knotting a paisley green tie around the collar of his oxford blue button-down. He rubs the skin of his cheeks, checking for missed clumps of stubble, and satisfied with finding none, he adjusts the belt holding up his slacks and slips into his dress shoes. His dark grey suit jacket is hanging over the back of the door, and he plucks it off the hangar as he exits the bathroom.

 

Jimmy's already waiting in the living room, tugging at his maroon tie and buttoning the sleeves of his black and white checker-boxed shirt. They'd fallen asleep on the couch some time around two the night before, until Jimmy roused them at five and dragged them both to bed. Luckily Brian had remembered to set an alarm for ten, and the synagogue was only half an hour away, so they had plenty of time to dress and prepare, both physically and mentally.

 

Brian's still not sure he's going to be able to handle carrying the casket. He doesn't know whether they'll want him to recite Psalm 91 (does he even remember the words?) or make the seven stops to the burial site... And Jimmy probably has no idea about any of this, hopefully Brian can give him a quick run down before the ceremony. Maybe if he just concentrates on the technical aspects of the event, doesn't think about what he's actually doing, the friend he's saying goodbye to... maybe he'll get through it.

 

He feels a touch on the shoulder. "You ready?" Jimmy asks. "We'll take my car."

 

Brian nods. "Ready as I'll ever be."

 

There's a generously-sized crow outside Beth Sholom, and it takes Jimmy a few minutes to find an open parking spot on the street. Brian doesn't recognize a lot of the people filing into the building; they're likely distant relatives or older friends that Beverly never introduced them to. They wade into the crowd, trying to find someone they know, and then Brian hears his name being called and a hand on his arm, pulling him from the teeming mass to an alcove.

 

Mr. Katz is the one who's found them. "Brian, Jimmy," he says, hugging them both, stretching up on his toes to cover the foot or so height difference between himself and Brian. He's balding and grey, with a bit less hair than the last time Brian saw him, although that could be the yarmulke on his head creating an illusion of hair loss. Mr. Katz adjusts the rims of his square glasses, and coughs into his hand. "Thank you for being here. Jimmy told you about carrying the casket, yes? I know he already confirmed you would, but I just want to make sure it's still ok."

 

Brian nods as he feels the palm of Jimmy's hand cup the base of his spine. "Of course, we'd be honored."

 

"Su-jin and I both asked for a simple burial, so you won't have to worry about anything complicated, you'll be signaled when it's time and follow the rabbi to the gravesite." He draws a pair of yarmulkes from his waistcoat, handing them each one. "You'll take the middle left handle, Jimmy, and Brian, you'll take the middle right."

 

He guides them into the synagogue, up the long aisle, greeting people with hugs and whispers as they go. Brian glances around nervously, suddenly feeling jitterish as eyes fall on him, assessing his form and wondering why he and Jimmy are side by side with the father of the deceased. _How many of them were her friends?_ Brian thinks. _Any ex-boyfriends?_ He spots a few of her acquaintances that he knows, acknowledging their presence with a nod.

 

Mr. Katz shakes his head when they try to take seats a few rows back. "No, we want you in the front," he says.

 

"But we're not-"

 

"Yes you are," he says, resting a hand on Brian's arm. "You were her family, so you're ours as well."

 

Brian's throat dries up, and he can't respond.

 

"Thank you, of course," Jimmy says, nudging Brian to keep going.

 

They break through the laws few clusters of people, and then they're at the front, standing in front of the casket. It's a simple wooden box, unadorned and showing no sign of the body within. On the altar, behind the casket, stands a poster board with photographs, a collage of faces. Beverly posing alone, with her parents, her friends, laughing and smiling in every single frame, and Brian sees his own face in a few of them, as well as Jimmy's. Including...

 

"Jimmy," he whispers, pointing. "Is that..."

 

"Mrs. Katz said she didn't have too many recent pictures of Bev, so I offered to email her some. I may have borrowed your phone and gotten that one." The picture from his lock screen, the one he changed yesterday so he wouldn't have to stare at it, the one with them pressed close in a happy pile of friendship... it's right near the middle of the board.

 

"You're not mad, are you?" Jimmy asks.

 

For a moment, he thinks he might be, but then a powerful feeling of calm settles over him.

 

"...Thank you," Brian says, taking Jimmy's hand and giving it a squeeze. "No, I'm not. I keep hiding from where she is, like hiding will let me pretend she's still here. But she isn't."

 

Jimmy gives him a look of concern, but then Mr. Katz is ushering them towards the pew, and Mrs. Katz is trying to stand to greet them, despite her bad knee. "Please don't," Brian says, hurrying forward and leaning down to hug her from the seat.

 

"I'm so glad you boys are here," she says as she hugs Jimmy. "Thank you for sending the pictures, Jimmy. They're lovely. Rina put together such a lovely board." She motions to Beverly's younger sister, who is sitting a few feet away with her husband. Brian gives her a small smile and wave, she returns it with a half-hearted one of her own.

 

Jimmy nods. "It looks great."

 

Just then, music begins to play, softly, signaling that the ceremony will start in a moment. Brian and Jimmy take their seats next to Beverly's brother-in-law, exchanging condolences. Brian glances back into the hall, stopping when he meets the eyes of Jack Crawford over the rows of benches. The man's sitting about a dozen pews behind them, but he's there, and Brian's not the least bit surprised.

 

Jack nods at him, an acknowledgment that now is not the time for bickering. Brian nods back, and then faces front.

 

The ceremony is brief. The rabbi is young, not much older than himself, and his voice is a booming alto that fills the synagogue. He tears the traditional black ribbons, handing them to Mr. Katz, who passes them down the front row, along with a handful of safety pins. Jimmy gives Brian a questioning look when he's handed his own piece. Brian pins the ribbon to his own suit jacket, and Jimmy follows suit.

 

The rabbi leads the audience in a few psalms, pockets of voices sounding out louder than others, _goyim_ who fumble along the unknown words. Brian finds that he doesn't need the book of Psalms, the words are coming back to him, and he closes his eyes, listening to how his own voice echoes through his chest, rumbling with a hoarse, melancholy undertone. Jimmy's voice is soft but steady, lilting and calmly reciting from the pages.

 

After the psalms, Beverly's sister stands, going up to the podium on the altar, with her husband at her side. She pulls out a sheaf of paper, shuffling the pile, clearing her throat. "Thank you all for being here to honor my sister. Mom asked if I would give the eulogy. I'm not good with speeches, so I'm sorry if this comes out terribly." Her voice is already cracking, and her husband rubs soothing circles into her back.

 

She speaks about growing up with her sister, how Beverly was always the troublemaker but also the more curious one. How she was always collecting new friends, winning everyone over with her friendly personality, breaking down the toughest of barriers. She talks about how passionate Beverly seemed at her job, how well she spoke of her coworkers; "Her teammates especially," Rina says, wiping a few tears away and smiling towards Brian and Jimmy. "She never shut up about you two."

 

Brian swallows and looks down at his hands, a shuddering breath warning of oncoming tears. Jimmy slides an arm around his shoulder, and Brian mumbles that he'll be alright.

 

She breaks only once, when she's talking about how Beverly always wanted to have a lot of kids, since her own family was so small. She can't get out the next sentence, and there's a good thirty seconds where she's crying into her palm, trying to compose herself. But finally, right when it seems that she might not be able to continue, she takes a deep breath and looks back down at the paper. "I don't know what she would've named her children, but I know that the first daughter I have will be named after her."

 

After the eulogy is over, they sit down, and Brian leans over and gives Rina a big hug. "That was wonderful," he murmurs to her. "She would've loved it."

 

"Thanks, Brian," she wipes her eyes, looking at him, and in that moment, she looks so much like her sister that he has to avert his gaze, lest he unleash his own waterworks.

 

The rabbi then calls for all who know the memorial prayer, _El Male Rachamim,_ to recite it with him in Hebrew. Brian pulls the half-remembered words from the depths of his mind, following along as best he can. " _Ayl m_ ö _-lay ra-chamim, sho-chayn ba-m'romim, ham-tzay m'nuch_ ö _..._ " He sees Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, staring at Brian with a look of bewilderment, as if he didn't imagine Brian would remember a lick of his Hebrew school training.

 

"... _b'sh_ ö _lom, v'no-mar_ ö _mayn._ " The prayer ends, and Mr. Katz leans forward, nodding to them. Brian stands, along with Jimmy, Rina's husband, and Mr. and Mrs. Katz' brothers, who have been seated on the other side of the pew this whole time. The six of them move forward, turning the casket on its wheeled stand so it faces lengthwise down the aisle. They position themselves around the coffin, Brian across from Jimmy, and Brian grasps the metal bar running across the side of the box. They wheel the casket down the aisle as the rabbi asks the congregation to recite the 23rd Psalm, and Brian runs through the words in his mind as they walk. _The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul_. Brian hasn't believed in God for many years, but the images the psalm conjures are peaceful, and if there is something after we go, after we take our last breath and lie cold in the ground, he hopes Beverly gets that peace for herself.

 

When they reach the doors of the building, the usher locks them open, and they lift the casket off the wheeled stand, holding it aloft on their shoulders. Luckily they're all fairly similar in height, although Jimmy's got to hold it up a bit higher than the rest. It's not as heavy as Brian thought it would be, and maybe he wanted it to be heavy, the weight of her body like the weight of her death burdened on his shoulders. Slowly, carefully, they move down the steps of the synagogue, then turn to the left, walking towards the arched gateway that leads towards the cemetery.

 

The rabbi catches up to them as they enter the graveyard, and guides them towards the burial site. There's half a dozen wreathes rimming the rectangular hole dug into the ground, and the caretaker of the cemetery shows them how to set the casket onto the waiting straps of the machine that will lower it into the ground.

 

By the time they secure the box, a large portion of the congregation has made their way out of the building and into the graveyard. The family members line up at the front of the grave. Brian and Jimmy huddle next to Rina and her husband, shivering as the cold air gives way to a light drizzle. It's terribly appropriate, sunny funerals are always the worst.

 

Once everyone has filed out to surround the grave, the rabbi begins to recite the 91st psalm. The caretaker turns on the machine, and with a gentle whir, Beverly's coffin is lowered into the ground.

 

Brian hears a lot of sniffling, but one very familiar sound. He glances over to see a line of wetness flowing its way down Jimmy's cheek, as the other man can't hold the tears back any longer. With an impulse, Brian reaches out and cups the back of Jimmy's neck, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles across the back. Jimmy looks at him, sniffles, and then gives him a miserable smile.

 

There is a glass bowl filled with dirt, and as the rabbi recites the psalm, he stops in front of each of the family members, offering them a handful to throw onto the box. Brian takes the last handful, cupping it in his hands, staring down at the flecks of green and white dotting the soil. There's life in the dirt, life that will wiggle and squirm its way into the cracks of the casket, eating away at the wood, falling onto the remains of his friend, covering her and enveloping her corpse, rotting it away, feeding new life that will flourish through her death.

 

As he tosses the dirt, watches it hang and swirl in the wind for a moment, twisting like a newly formed nebula, he thinks of an old quote: _We are all made of star stuff_.

 

The ceremony is over, and as quickly as the graveyard filled with people, it now begins to clear out. Brian and Jimmy stand to the side as people say goodbye to Beverly's parents, wanting to have a more private moment to take their leave. They're facing each other, hands shoved into their pockets, staring at the ground and watching small puddles form in the mud. Brian glances up as someone walks towards them, and is surprised to find that it's Jack.

 

He stops, looks between them, and then puts a hand on each of their shoulders. "You boys did a good job," he says. "She'd be proud of you. Take tomorrow off, if I see you in the building I'm kicking you out."

 

They both nod, and he leaves.

 

When only the family members are left, Brian and Jimmy rejoin the group. "We'll be at Rina's house for the next few days sitting _Shiva_ ," Mrs. Katz says, patting Brian's shoulder. "You'll stop by, won't you?"

 

"I'll come by tomorrow," Brian says.

 

"I'll come with him," Jimmy pipes in. "If it's alright."

 

"Of course," Mr. Katz says, pulling Jimmy into a hug. "Thank you both again, for carrying the casket." His voice is soft as he hugs Brian. "We knew we could count on you to keep her safe."

 

 _But... but we didn't_ , Brian thinks as they walk out of the graveyard. _We didn't keep her safe, or she'd still be here..._

 

They get into the car, and just sit there for a while, the engine off, listening to the patter of the rain on the windshield. Jimmy is staring at the steering wheel, clenching his fists and relaxing them, over and over again, his mouth hanging open just slightly, a distant, exhausted look on his face.

 

Brian can't get Mr. Katz's words out of his head, and they eat at him, screaming in the depths of his consciousness, and he feels like a failure, an utterly abject, worthless piece of shit. _Were we only good enough to put her in the ground?_ he thinks, curling his legs up onto the seat and pressing his face to his knees as a sob wracks his body. _How could we have failed her so badly? We should've kept her safe, she was our family,_ and, as schmaltzy as it may seem, all he can think of is that one line from that damned kid's movie, _Family means no one gets left behind._

 

He's sobbing openly now, fisting his hands into the legs of his trousers, ugly, snotty crying that leaks and stains the fabric, bubbling up from the pit of his stomach and tearing him in two. He slumps against the door, no energy to stay upright, fighting to breathe against the hyperventilation of his gasps, and his mind twists and spins as her face clouds his vision once more.

 

But then there are two hands gripping his shoulders, yanking him across the center console, arms wrapping around him and pulling him against Jimmy's warm, firm chest. Brian can feel the way Jimmy's body trembles, hear the sobs leaving Jimmy's mouth, the pained, wounded crying of a broken creature. They're both broken creatures, holding fast to one another against the battering storm that threatens to send them overboard.

 

He hates this, hates hearing Jimmy feel so much hurt. He's the best person Brian's ever known, always has Brian's back, never lets him forget that he's loved. _How can I stop your pain?_ Brian thinks, lifting his head to meet the other man's gaze. _How can I make it go away, even for only a moment?_

 

Only one thing has felt even the least bit good for the last three days, so that's what Brian tries, tipping his head up and meeting Jimmy's lips, kissing away the tears slipping down his cheeks and returning the favor Jimmy paid him two nights ago. Except this time he keeps going, doesn't pull away, pushing Jimmy back against the driver's side door and slipping Jimmy's shirttails out from under his belt, sliding his hands under the fabric to press marks into Jimmy's skin. Jimmy moans softly against his mouth, sniffles turning into panting breaths as Brian trails his mouth down Jimmy's neck.

 

"B-Brian, what are you doing..."

 

There's a fire burning, kindling in Brian's chest, traveling lower and lower, heating up and arousing certain parts of him, and he realizes in that moment how badly he needs the other man, needs to feel him all over, envelop himself in the other man's warmth. This feeling is unfamiliar, and he should be disturbed, given the circumstances, but all he can think is that they need to get back to Jimmy's house before Brian gets them ticketed for public indecency.

 

"I want you," Brian groans, catching Jimmy's fingers and bringing them down to press against the growing lump in Brian's pants. "Please," he begs, "please let me have you."

 

Jimmy looks at him for a long moment, gasping for air as his eyes slide up Brian's shaking form. Then he nods and pushes Brian back into the passenger's seat. "Let me stop at the pharmacy first," he says, turning on the engine. "Can you keep it together for twenty minutes?"

 

Brian nods and draws his knees back up, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, trying to calm down.  _In one... two... three... four... five... six... seven... out one... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... ten... eleven..._ It's a well-used calming technique, and it lets him concentrate on counting numbers instead of how badly he wants to lean over and rip Jimmy's clothes off.

 

Jimmy's in and out of the pharmacy in five minutes, and Brian's grateful that it was quick, because he has an idea of what Jimmy bought. He confirms it when Jimmy tosses the bag at him; Brian opens it to see a box of condoms and lubricant as Jimmy slams the door shut, turning the car back on and speeding out of the parking lot.

 

Brian's bouncing on his heels as Jimmy fumbles with the house keys, and as soon as they get through the door, he jumps on the other man, tearing his suit jacket off and yanking at his shirt collar. "Brian, Jesus, calm down," Jimmy says as he unknots his tie. "I'm not going anywhere, you can have me all night if you'd like."

 

"Gladly," Brian gasps, ignoring his own clothes to start unbuttoning Jimmy's shirt. They enter the bedroom, and as Jimmy's knees hit the back of the bed, Brian gets frustrated with the buttons and just rips the rest of the shirt open.

 

"What the hell?"

 

"I'll buy you another one," Brian growls, pushing Jimmy down onto the mattress and applying his mouth to Jimmy's chest. He licks a frantic trail up the middle, from his belly button to his right nipple, flicking it with his tongue and savoring the gasp Jimmy makes. His hands find their way to Jimmy's belt buckle, and he pulls the strap open, releasing the button on Jimmy's pants and yanking them down with his boxers. Jimmy's already firmly erect, which makes it easy for Brian to wrap his lips around Jimmy's cock and suck, hard.

 

"Brian!" Jimmy cries, arching off the bed and digging his hands into Brian's hair. A stream of unintelligible nonsense leaves his mouth as Brian works his cock, burying it deep into his throat, nuzzling the man's short hairs with his nose. Brian has no idea why he's so desperate to suck Jimmy's cock, he's never been the biggest fan or the most skilled at the concept, but his body is aching like mad for Jimmy's scent, for the slide of his prick against Brian's tongue, for the breathy, unhindered gasps the other man is making. He's a little disappointed when Jimmy pulls him off, sitting up and capturing his mouth in a greedy kiss.

 

"How do you want me," Jimmy mutters, grabbing Brian's belt buckle and undoing it frustratingly slowly. Brian wants to bark at him to hurry up, but Jimmy doesn't seem to want to move at the pace he does.

 

"On your back," Brian grunts, yanking his tie the rest of the way off as Jimmy slides his pants down his hips. He kisses a trail up the side of Jimmy's neck, muttering into his ear. "I want to be deep inside of you."

 

Jimmy whimpers and nods, tearing open the box of lubricant as Brian shimmies out of pants. He grabs the box of condoms as Jimmy slides up the bed, laying back against the pillows and popping the cap of the lubricant. Brian stills, ignoring the condoms for a moment, to watch as Jimmy coats his fingers in lube, before sliding them under his body. He can't see Jimmy pushing a finger inside himself, but it's pretty obvious when it happens, because his eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a pleased whine.

 

"Shit, you are so fucking hot, Jim." Brian palms his own cock as he tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, fingers shaking as he rolls the latex down over his length, wanting so badly to _get on with it already_. His impatience seems to have rubbed off on Jimmy, who has spread his knees, giving Brian a view of his opening, and he's already working a third finger into himself, shivering and shuddering as his legs threaten to buckle.

 

"O-okay," Jimmy gasps, slipping his hand out and wiping it off on the sheets. "I'm ready."

 

Brian moves to action, sliding between Jimmy's legs and spreading them wide. Jimmy reaches up to grab the headboard as Brian lines his prick up and then, as slowly as he can force himself to go, he slides into Jimmy, thrusting to the hilt, releasing a stuttered cry as Jimmy's heat envelopes him.

 

" _Shitshitshit!_ ," Jimmy shouts, pressing his feet into the back of Brian's spine as his fingers tighten around the bars of the headboard. "Brian- Brian, fuck me, oh god, please..."

 

Brian moves, jerking his hips back and forth in uneven thrusts before he starts to gather a rhythm. His skin is tingling in the cool air, making the white hot heat in his belly even more intense. Jimmy keeps calling his name, softly, loudly, breathy, and cracked, and Brian leans down to cut him off, kissing him and thrusting his tongue between Jimmy's lips, another way to slip inside of him.

 

It feels so good, _so good_ after their world burned down, to finally be able to enjoy something again. Brian feels momentarily whole again, as if Jimmy's the tourniquet stopping the bleed out, Jimmy's the bandage covering the hole in his heart. He's starting to lose track of his limbs, starting to feel like they've melted together into one being, a creature of pure pleasure. Brian wants to stay like this forever, on the precipice between arousal and release, watching Jimmy unravel on the bed beneath him, crying his name like it's a lifeline.

 

"You've ruined me," Jimmy whimpers against his lips. "I can't, oh god, Brian, you're so-" He drops his head back, unable to go on. His chest is heaving, rivulets sweat running down the middle and rolling off the edges of his hip bones. Splotches of red are climbing up his throat, and his eyes are unfocused, hazy with arousal.

 

"Jim," Brian sobs, "Jim you're so gorgeous, how have I never told you that."

 

"You- you've never been fucking me," Jimmy gulps in a strangled laugh. "Why would you have ever said- said it before?"

 

"Because it's t-true." Brian rakes a hand down Jimmy's chest, drawing five red lines onto his already splotched skin, enjoying the feeling of possession they give him. "I never want to stop telling you that."

 

"F-fuck, Brian, you can't say s-shit like that," Jimmy moans, pressing his heels harder into Brian's back so when he thrusts he goes deeper, "Going to make me c-come too early."

 

"Not too early," Brian says. His legs are starting to tremble, and he can feel the heat in his groin twisting and growing, turning towards a release. "You feel t-too good, not going to last much longer."

 

"Kiss me when I come," Jimmy begs. "I- I wanna feel all of you when I get there."

 

"T-tell me when," Brian groans, as every thrust feels better and better, and he feels Jimmy getting tighter and tighter around him.

 

"Now!" Jimmy yells, and Brian slams into him, enveloping the cry that escapes Jimmy's lips with his own mouth. He feels the hot splatter of semen against his stomach, and Jimmy squeezes around him so hard that it tears the orgasm out of him, Jimmy's name on his tongue as he climaxes.

 

The blissful, buzzed feeling makes him unwilling to move for a minute. Jimmy's slid his legs back down to the bed, and Brian lifts his head to stare into his eyes, finding a warm, welcoming lightness at their core.

 

When they've had a chance to collect themselves, Brian presses a kiss to Jimmy's forehead, muttering, "thank you," before he slides out of the other man and rolls off the bed. He disposes of the condom in the waste bin, and grabs a used towel from the laundry hamper, tossing it to Jimmy as he collapses back onto the bed next to him.

 

Jimmy cleans himself off and then turns over, pressing his face into Brian's chest and draping an arm over his waist. "Feel better?" he asks, ghosting his fingers up and down Brian's spine.

 

"Yeah, a little." He's starting to come back to reality, the reality where they just went to their best friend's funeral and had really hot sex afterwards. "Actually, I feel pretty dirty."

 

"Don't," Jimmy says, swatting his butt. "We've been pushed to our limits for the last few days. You can't stay that miserable forever, something's bound to snap."

 

"I didn't think wanting to fuck you would be how I snapped," Brian mutters, pressing a kiss to the top of Jimmy's head. "Alcohol would've been my guess."

 

"We can't really predict what we'll do in moments of crisis." Jimmy yawns, slipping his leg between Brian's knees and curling his toes against Brian's foot. "This is probably healthier than booze. It's a lot more social too."

 

"Only you would point out the 'social' benefit of sex first," Brian snarks. "When I think 'social' I think tea party or family dinner, not wild, animalistic intercourse."

 

"See, you are feeling better," Jimmy says. "I haven't heard you sass me like that in days."

 

"Mmmm." Brian lets his eyes flutter shut, relishing the warmth that Jimmy's spreading through his frame, his hands tracing circles on the skin of Brian's back. The rain has stopped outside, so now all he can hear is the faint humming of the heating unit, and Jimmy's breath sweeping over his abdomen. The sweat on his spine is cooling in the dry air, and he almost wants to climb under the covers, but he doesn't want to move more than he wants a blanket.

 

"Bev would probably say we're idiots," Jimmy mumbles through another yawn.

 

"Why?"

 

"Because, she'd probably wonder why she had to die before we were open enough with each other to do this."

 

"I didn't know I wanted this," Brian says.

 

"I did. Know you wanted it, I mean." Jimmy replies.

 

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

 

"Because I wanted you to figure it out yourself. I didn't want you to feel coerced."

 

"You are terrible at coercion," Brian teases. "You're too nice to deceive anybody."

 

"See? I've coerced you to think that. All part of my master plan."

 

"To what, sleep with me and use my hot body to take over the world?"

 

"Mmmm, close." Jimmy scoots up to his level, pecking him on the mouth. "Don't worry, you're going to be taken well care of during my world domination phase. Lots of servants feeding you grapes and fanning you and dressing you in hot little numbers for me."

 

Brian grins. "You're insane, which I guess is perfect for a dictator."

 

"Oh yes, I chose my career well. I'm thinking of doing a yellow and green number for my minion's uniforms, and-"

 

Brian shuts him up with a kiss before he can keep making up more nonsense.

 

They slide languidly about, fitting together like two puzzle pieces, carved from the same board. When they pull apart, Jimmy grabs his shoulders and rolls them, dragging Brian up to drape him across Jimmy's frame. Brian rests his chin between the curves of Jimmy's pectorals, pressing a kiss to the skin above his breastbone. Jimmy slides a hand down and cups Brian's cheek, searching his eyes for something, Brian's not sure what. He must find it, because the corners of his mouth quirk up in a faint smile.

 

"It's only three," Jimmy says, glancing at the clock. "Let's rest, we can make the meal for  _Shiva_  later and store it away for tomorrow."

 

Brian nods, sliding his cheek against Jimmy's pecs like a cat, ready to take a mid-afternoon snooze. "Jim?" he mumbles before he drifts off.

 

"Yeah, Bri?"

 

"Thank you for being somebody I could want."

 

Jimmy says nothing, but the way his fingers brush Brian's cheek speaks volumes.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for getting this far with me through this angst. I promise, the last chapter has some hope to it.


	4. So Give Me Hope in the Darkness That I Will See The Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, they both only have half a heart left. But they'll make a whole one together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the chapter comes from "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford & Sons. I suggest listening to it or your own appropriately angsty music while reading this.

 

 

 

They were planning on cooking for the _Shiva_ , but later in the evening, as they're prepping the ingredients, Brian feels the aching wound tearing open in his chest again, and the sadness threatens to overwhelm him, so he begs and moans until Jimmy fucks him over the arm of the couch, and Brian does feel a bit guilty this time, but he'd like to put off feeling the pain for a little longer. By the time they're done, it's late, so they store the food to finish cooking tomorrow, and go to bed.

 

Brian gets up first, some time after eleven, and he's cooking the shrimp as Jimmy stumbles out of the bedroom, yawning and trailing one of the sheets around his waist; they didn't redress, after the second time.

 

"Coffee," Brian says, pointing to the counter. Jimmy makes a pleased sound and pulls out a mug, filling it up to the brim and downing it in a few gulps.

 

"I don't understand how you haven't scalded your throat doing that," Brian grumbles, stirring the shrimp.

 

"Years of practice necessitated by a job where I don't always have time to prep in the morning." Jimmy puts down the mug and pulls a fresh pair of boxers out of the dryer, wiggling into them and throwing a T-shirt on. "I thought you would've woken me."

 

"You seemed like you needed the rest."

 

"So did you."

 

"I'm alright for now. Cooking lets me take my mind off things." He feels Jimmy's arm around his waist and the press of a kiss against his shoulder, and he shivers.

 

"I'm going to shower," Jimmy says, releasing him. "I'll take over the cooking when I get out, and you can go get ready while I throw this together."

 

They shower and dress, heading out around one, driving up into Maryland. The trip takes about an hour, and when they pull up to Rina's house, there are about half-a-dozen other cars parked out front.

 

When they ring the doorbell, Mrs. Katz greets them warmly. She seems in better spirits than yesterday, thanking them for bringing the food and guiding them to the living room, where about eight or ten people are milling about, talking in small groups.

 

The poster board from the funeral is sitting on the mantle above the fireplace, and as Jimmy goes to get them drinks, Brian stares up at it, studying the photographs, picking out the dozen or so that he recognizes, smiling as he traces the time frame of the collage, as the little toddler in a pink tutu morphs to the young child holding a frog out as she plays in a muddy pond, growing into the wiry teenager who would barely smile for photographs, and then the college graduate who was jumping mid-air with a group of friends. She ages onward, at family parties in her mid-twenties, her PhD degree graduation, and then Brian sees himself, a bit younger, a bit thinner, probably the first picture they ever took together, and Jimmy's behind the camera for that one, but he's in the next one, and the next one, and every other picture that they share with Beverly.

 

"We made a good team." Brian turns to find Jimmy, offering him a soda.

 

He takes the can, swirling it around. "We'll never be that good again without her."

 

"Maybe not," Jimmy says, taking a sip. "But we can honor her memory by trying."

 

Brian clinks his can against Jimmy's. " _L'chaim_ ," he says, and then tips it back to his lips.

 

They chat with various family members, discussing the good memories of Beverly, and even learning a few new things about her. Her aunt mentions her childhood fascination with bird watching, and her uncle discusses her terrible skills at skiing, recalling that she almost fell off the side of a mountain on one trip.

 

Brian's sitting with Mr. Katz, asking about how Minneapolis is around this time of year when a familiar figure comes into the room.

 

"Mr. Katz." Jack approaches them, holding a hand out to shake as the man gets to his feet. Brian remains seated through the greeting, nodding a hello to his boss and waiting until he leaves to let out a sigh of relief.

 

"I'm sending some tension there," Mr. Katz says when he sits back down. Jack has gone to stand with Jimmy, who's chatting with Rina in the corner of the room.

 

"I may have had a slight meltdown towards him," Brian mutters. "Said some stupid things. Got my ass chewed out."

 

"A time like this, it's not good to dwell on things said during the heat of grief." Mr. Katz pats his knee. "Usually they don't matter in the long run."

 

_But what if you say things you want to be true?_ he thinks, glancing over at Jimmy, feeling the knot in his chest constrict a little tighter.

 

Mr. Katz goes to check on his wife, and Brian decides that he had better grow a pair and get this over with. He moves over to Jack and Jimmy, addressing his boss first. "Do you want to come back to the house after this for a drink?" Jack only lets his bewilderment slip with the slight raise of an eyebrow. "I mean, if Jimmy's alright with that, I've kind of been staying at his place..." Another eyebrow raise, and maybe cluing his boss into their little affair isn't the best idea.

 

"I'd consider it if Jimmy agrees," Jack gruffs.

 

"Of course I will," Jimmy says. "I can pull something out of the freezer for dinner."

 

They only stay another hour - the family's had visitors since nine, and they need some quiet time to themselves.

 

Mrs. Katz kisses Brian's cheek as they say their goodbyes in the foyer. "I want you boys to visit us sometime, alright? We have plenty of space and you two would like the city, it's very  _progressive_." She winks, and Brian's face colors a shade of pink when he realizes what she's implying. Jimmy is snickering next to him, and Brian elbows him in the side. Jack's staring at them like they've grown an extra pair of heads.

 

"Thank you ma'am," Brian squeaks, shaking Mr. Katz's hand. "We'll remember that the next time we have some vacation time."

 

When they're out of the house, walking towards the cars, Jack's still giving them that look. "Did she-" he starts, then shakes his head. "I don't want to know. I'll see you back at your house." He nods to them, pushing down the trilby on his head and turning away.

 

Jimmy's grinning a mile wide look at him when they get back in the car. "Not a _word_ ," Brian says, scowling. "You hear me?" Jimmy nods, miming himself zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

 

_Is it that obvious?_ he wonders, watching Jimmy start the car. _Maybe I've been the most oblivious one all along._

 

They get back to Jimmy's around 5, and at 5:15, Jack rings their doorbell, carrying a twelve-pack of Yuengling. "I felt I should contribute," he says, handing the case to Brian as he shrugs off his coat. "What is Jimmy cooking?"

 

"Something with chicken," Brian says, hanging Jack's coat up and following him out to the living room. He sees the condom wrapper from last night still lying on the side table, quickly pocketing it so Jack doesn't see. Those are _definitely_ questions he doesn't want to answer right now. "Look, Jack, I wanted to talk to you-"

 

"Later, Zeller," Jack says, giving him a look that says _I know what this is about but I'm going to need alcohol in me to handle it_. "Let's give the chef a hand."

 

Jimmy throws together a simple dish of baked chicken and asparagus. Brian finds the bottle opener in one of the drawers and uncaps three bottles for them. "Did the tissue sample results come back from the lab?" Brian asks as he hands Jack a beer.

 

"Nothing out of the ordinary in the system, nothing that could be traced back to a potential suspect." Jack chugs a third of the bottle in one go. "Your theory about finding her kidney is the best we have to go on."

 

"He could've disposed of it already," Brian grumbles. "It could be in a dumpster three states away."

 

"The Ripper likes his trophies," Jack says. "He's going to do the same to her kidney that he did to the rest of his victim's organs. Killers don't usually just dispose of their prizes, Zeller."

 

Brian and Jack set the dining room table while Jimmy pulls the finished food out of the oven. When they sit down to eat, they can't help turn the conversation to Beverly. Specifically, their favorite stories about her.

"-and then, and then, she had to pull Brian's ass out of the river before he froze to death!" Jimmy cackles while Brian glares daggers at him. "Remember how he was sneezing for a full week and said it was allergies?"

 

"It seemed a little early for the season," Jack said, smirking and sipping his third beer.

 

"You're never ever going to let me live that down, are you?" Brian groans. "Your grandchildren will know about how your drunk, idiot friend Brian Zeller tried to save a rotting log from drowning."

 

"Oh come on," Jimmy says, squeezing his hand. "That was adorable, you were so worried that it was a dog or a little fox and too drunk to realize it had branches and bark. It was really sweet." He leaves his hand on Brian's a bit too long, and Brian knows that Jack notices these things, so he tugs away.

 

"Next time, don't let him near any bodies of water unless he's sober, Price," Jack says, sitting back and resting his hands on his stomach. "That was delicious by the way. Let Zeller and I clear the table."

 

"No, it's fine, I'm fickle about how I load my dishwasher," Jimmy says. "Go to the living room, I won't be long."

 

Brian and Jack end up by the glass doors that lead out to the deck, staring through the windows out into the moonlit night sky. Jack isn't talking, but it isn't the sort of silence that comes from not wanting to speak, rather the quiet of being comfortable in another person's presence.

 

"I'm sorry," Brian says, drumming his nails on his beer bottle. "I freaked out and showed you an undeniable level of disrespect. You were right to release the body. I let my emotions get the best of me."

 

"You're damn right you did," Jack says. "But so did I." Brian gives him a look of confusion. "I wanted her body out of there because I couldn't face having it in the building anymore. But it wouldn't have been wrong to give you two a little more time to say goodbye. I could've waited an hour, but I didn't."

 

"I wouldn't have been saying goodbye to Beverly," Brian says. "That wasn't her anymore. I don't think I can ever say goodbye, really, not all the way."

 

"No one ever says goodbye all the way, Zeller. But our dead don't stay the same once they're gone. They... change."

 

"Into what?"

 

Jack takes a sip from his bottle. "Into the better parts of ourselves."

 

_Is that what Mrs. Crawford is for you?_ Brian thinks, but doesn't say out loud. It's not his grief to intrude upon, not shared, like theirs is for Beverly.

 

"Beverly was a good agent," Jack continues, turning to face Brian. "And you and Price are as well. You're still my team, and I want to know that you're willing to do what it takes to bring the Ripper to justice."

 

"Don't even question it," Brian says. "I'll have your back, whatever it takes."

 

"The same for me." Jimmy steps into the room, joining them at the doors. "We won't let her down."

 

"A toast," Jack says, raising his bottle. "To Beverly Katz."

 

They clink their bottles together, and speak as one. " _To Beverly Katz._ "

 

~

 

Jack leaves around eight. "I'm giving you both one more day," he says as he shucks on his coat. "Get yourselves together tomorrow and I'll see you on Friday, ready to power through what I need you to do."

 

"Got it," Jimmy says, shaking his hand. "We'll see you with bells on."

 

" _He_ will see you with bells on," Brian says. "I'll stick to wearing actual clothes."

 

Jack gives him a funny look, and Brian tries to figure out what he's said, but then Jack shakes his hand and is gone.

 

"You talked with him, yeah?" Jimmy asks as they both collapse onto the couch. "I don't have to worry about wheeling you out of the BSU in a full body cast anymore, right?"

 

"We're good. You aren't really that pedantic about your dishwasher are you?"

 

“Of course not,” Jimmy says. “But it was the only way I could think to get you two alone together.”

 

Brian nudges Jimmy's leg. "Are _we_ good?"

 

"You tell me," Jimmy says, putting his bottle down on the coffee table. "You haven't tried to molest me today, and I would say I was insulted if the circumstances were different."

 

Brian smirks. "I think I've finally gotten over the constant urge to either cry or screw, so you're safe."

 

"I didn't say I wanted to be safe."

 

"Oh..."

 

"I want to know where we go from here," Jimmy says. "I know I kind of started this, but you were definitely the one who wanted to take it to the next level. I'm just wondering if you'll want to keep going when things go back to normal."

 

"It's never going to go back to normal, Jim." Brian downs the last of his beer and sets down the bottle. "We lost that sort of normal when we lost Bev."

 

Jimmy nods his head. "I know, but you know what I mean. When things calm down a bit, and we get on with our lives... what part of your life am I going to be in?"

 

Brian sits forward, pushing Jimmy back against the armrest and drawing him into a deep, longing kiss. He cups the back of Jimmy's neck and presses them flush, wanting the contact to communicate the things Brian can't say with words.

 

"You will be where you've always been," Brian mutters when it ends, meeting his eyes. "Right next to me, saying something snarky in my ear to make me smile. Now I'll just share all of myself with you instead of most of it."

 

"Brian..." There's a look of wonder on Jimmy's face. "You are the most remarkable man I've ever met."

 

"That's a lie," Brian says, grinning. "But an appreciated one."

 

Jimmy rests his hands on Brian's hips and presses their foreheads together. "I'm too lucky; out of all this sadness, I somehow found you."

 

"You didn't have to look very far," Brian murmurs. "I've always been here."

 

When they kiss, Brian swears he hears Beverly's laugh, echoing in his ears one last time.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their support and love for this fic. You truly are the best fandom I've ever been in.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to happily-obsessing on tumblr for beta'ing this fic! You made me LOL so hard while I was writing this, which helped me not dissolve into a weepy puddle of tears, so thank you bb :D
> 
> Inspiration for this fic came from two similar fic prompts, one from jimprices and the other from makymoon, both on tumblr. Thank you both for the great ideas!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at nighthawkms.tumblr.com


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